


sister silhouette

by sweetdreamsaremadeoffish



Series: uncharted [2]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: A Good Time TM (?), A bromance perhaps, Angst, Because I can, Domestic, F/F, Fluff, Multi, Sequel to a garden of poetry and prayer, i guess, i'm calling this Helldie, just trust me dude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetdreamsaremadeoffish/pseuds/sweetdreamsaremadeoffish
Summary: But she doesn’twantto fight. She’s looking for an ally, not an enemy. She has plenty of those already, and another, particularly one in her position, would be a considerable inconvenience.So, no. Diplomacy and compassion. She can do that.Right?





	sister silhouette

**Author's Note:**

> By popular demand, I wrote another chapter to “a garden of poetry and prayer”. And made it a separate thing. And now I’m just going to collect moments between Lilith and Hildie because I _definitely_ needed another sub-project.
> 
> I’m thinking that it’ll be a semi-linear exposition of the two of them adjusting to each other’s roles in Zelda’s life and the Spellman family, perhaps with a prompt here and there. (And based on more Sara Bareilles? Maybe? The work title is from “Not Alone”, and the chapter title’s from “Machine Gun”. Both off the Kaleidoscope Heart album.)
> 
> Honestly, I’m super open to what you guys want this to be, it’s just a little experiment with a relationship I haven’t worked with much yet.

The little bell in the door dings cheerful as she enters the shop. Today, the tinny clang annoys her. Her head is buzzing with enough as it is, and she doesn’t need anymore fruitless sanguinity.

Zelda _would_ have to fall into bed with the nearest crux of power. And _of course_ , it would have to be their new goddess. Sometimes Hilda wonders if her sister can control herself in the presence of authority. Her own inclination towards approval had always led her to obedience, following rules, pursuing high marks, and baking for her teachers at the Academy. Zelda’s had manifested in her frequent, fiery stints spent in those same teachers’ beds.

Perhaps it’s a Spellman trait.

She thinks of Sabrina.

Well, one that skips a generation.

She’s definitely digging into the liquor cabinet.

 

 

She governed that damned school, but Lilith would prefer another violent coup in Hell to more interaction with mortals and their frivolity.

Flamboyant hyperbole, of course.

It unsteadies her, noticing her casual willingness to traipse into this horrid little shop in this horrid little town, all for Zelda’s sake. She wonders how such a vibrant spirit could become so firmly lashed to this hellhole.

Teenagers lounge about, sipping out-of-season hot chocolate and poring over crinkled comic books. She’s at high risk for unwanted social interaction, as they’re primarily Baxter High students. But hopefully, they know better than to approach her, and she can get in and _get the heaven out_.

Prickling at the base of her stomach leaves her lingering among the thickly stocked shelves, rifling through eccentric packs of cards and nauseatingly themed dime candies. Through the skeletal purple frame, she glimpses a very tall black and white wig. It sits atop a sun-kissed, Spellman forehead and a few errant blonde curls, brushed aside in Hilda’s rush.

This is ludicrous. She is the Queen of Hell, not some sniveling, sophomoric son-in-law to be. She can fuck whoever she wants, whenever she wants, and she doesn’t have to answer for her actions to anyone, much less her new Priestess and lover’s younger sister.

Her forehead makes violent contact with the shelf of its own exasperated volition.

_Ludicrous_.

The sheer absurdity of it all propels her to the garish indigo counter, even if it’s just to get the torturous ordeal over with.

She knocks on the chipped, scuffed surface and sighs.

Hilda turns, customer service smile already plastered across her face, but her eyes are tired. They’re blue, unlike her sister’s, and it feels like a loss.

And then the smile is gone, and so is Hilda, gliding down the bar—can she still call it a bar if they’re just serving coffee, cocoa, and assorted teas?—and chirping incessantly to the kids waiting there.

This witch.

Lilith follows, and Hilda pointedly ignores her like a petulant child. The Spellman sisters are more alike than they realize.

“Ms. Spellman, if I may-”

“You may not.” Hilda does not look up from the glass she’s fervently drying, and a begrudging sort of respect spreads in her chest. That was a rather bold move on her part. Hilda Spellman has the potential to be a worthy opponent.

Or just a painfully foolish one.

But she doesn’t _want_ to fight. She’s looking for an ally, not an enemy. She has plenty of those already, and another, particularly one in her position, would be a considerable inconvenience.

So, no. Diplomacy and compassion. She can do that.

Right?

“I just want to talk,” she offers.

“Oh?” Hilda’s arming herself. Lilith can hear her tone boiling. “Is that what you said to Zelda last night?”

She feels heavy again. Tired. She’d thought Hilda was the easiest Spellman to manage, but that could have been because she was disposable at the time. Now, things are much more complicated, and that isn’t what she needs.

What she needs is reconciliation. And maybe another well-executed orgasm.

“I’m not-”

“You’re unbelievable, you know.” Hilda talks to the glass, which is quite dry by now, but she doesn’t seem to care. “All this talk of new rules, a new game, empowerment, protection, and here you are, manipulating your greatest devotee before you have so much as a text of worship. She’s done nothing but fight for you and your new church since you left, and you repay her by toying with her, body and soul.”

She picks up more steam as she goes. All the while, her voice remains dangerously low; quiet enough to keep from raising any suspicion, quiet enough that only Lilith can truly hear each word she spits throughout her infuriated diatribe.

“After everything my sister has been through, everything falling at the feet—or shall I say, hooves?—of supposed higher powers has taken from her, you would have her bow to you and call it love?” There are tears in the corners of Hilda’s eyes, and that just makes her angrier, hating the weakness in bleeding for her beloved sister’s hardships. “You of all people should know-”

“I-”

The impact of the glass on the counter is loud and jarring as Hilda slams it down firmly. When Lilith looks up, the Brit’s arms are crossed, and she’s gnawing on her lip, an irate imitation of Zelda’s own nibbling tic, indicating that the floor is open for her to explain herself.

Now is when each defense she’s crafted chokes in her chest. _Now_ , is when all her readied reasonings soar silent from her on newly sprouted owl’s wings. There’s a snake struggling inside her lungs, screams contained, despite her desperation to set them free.

This is a battle she can’t afford to lose.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much for reading! I’m not sure what the update schedule for this is going to look like, but I have next week off so y’all are welcome to harass me about writing more if the fancy strikes you. This probably won’t be the first thing to get updated, but I hope I’ll be able to get a good bulk of stuff in circulation soon.
> 
> Leave me a prompt, what you thought, or tell me what your best threat or ominous phrase is.
> 
> Love, Ruby


End file.
